Uncomfortably Close

In my last few chapters, it has begun to feel like I may be delving too deeply into my past. Some unwieldy and bothersome feeling have surfaced, making me stop to consider. What if, after I've published my book, my former nun friends and still-nun friends take it wrong,  misunderstand me, or think I'm slamming the convent?

The reactions of those closest to me are the ones that hover over my shoulder as I write. I see their disapproving scowls and raised eyebrows. I hear them say with disgust,

 "What in the world is she thinking?
This isn't at ALL how it was.
How were we to know she was so unhappy."

And so on. . . bringing my typing hand to a standstill.

The Good Girl part of me reacts. The Pleaser--ever wary of stepping out and creating controversy. 

Although I've marched to an unmistakably different drummer than my family and many of my friends since leaving the convent, I still carry a surprising whiplash instinct to conform. And telling my story from the inside out--revealing how those years affected me then and now--is what I need to write.  

*gulp* 

 So, after a brief, shuddering, pause, I perk up my ears to the rhythm of my inner drummer and resume my own dance.